


Pup of the Baskettowns

by HopeHazard



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeHazard/pseuds/HopeHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A parody of Hound of the Baskervilles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pup of the Baskettowns

**Author's Note:**

> This was an English assignment last year. We had to make a parody of something, so I did Hound of the Baskervilles, specifically the part where Sir Henry is walking down that gravel path with Holmes and Watson in the bushes, waiting for the hound.

I shivered against the cold night air and glanced at the man next to me, the great Sherman Holes. He seemed unaffected by the frigid breeze, his eyes trained on the path in front of us with an intense gaze of concentration. I checked my watch and cleared my throat. “It’s already past 10 o’clock,” I said quietly. “Shouldn’t he be coming soon?” 

“Patience, my dear Watkins,” Holes chided. “He’s coming along now. Have you got your weapon?” I nodded and reached into my pocket where my slingshot and small bag of rocks lay. I slowly pulled it out and watched as the Sir Herbert Baskettown walked down the gravel path.

He was nervous; that much was evident. He would glance over his shoulder every few seconds while wringing his hands. Though the fog made it difficult to see his face, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was covered in sweat. He knew the stakes of the night, and how important it was that Holes and I not make even a single mistake. That was surely enough to put anyone on edge. 

Just as I was about to nudge Holes and point out a rather odd shape in the fog, a low growl erupted from around us. Sir Herbert froze in his spot and began to look about wildly. I raised my slingshot, ready to hurl rocks at whatever dared to attack us, but Holes put a firm hand on my arm and shook his head. Wait, his expression clearly said. I nodded obediently and tried to pin-point the source of the noise. It seemed to be encircling us, coming from all directions. But as the shape in the fog got more defined, so did the source of the noise. Holes and I reached the conclusion simultaneously just as the growling, which had been getting louder is a rapid crescendo, suddenly stopped. With bated breath, we waited to see what kind of monstrous beast would come forth from the dark. We were completely shocked when out of the mist came mincing a small hound dog. Sir Herbert let out a cry of terror and collapsed onto the ground.

It was jet black, nearly indistinguishable from the night around us. At a staggering two-and-a-half feet, it was easily the biggest hound dog I had ever laid eyes upon (though to be honest, I’ve seen very few of them before). It stopped and bowed down, it’s rear-end up in the air and tail wagging menacingly. With a short, high-pitched bark, which spewed red sparkles into the air, the beast pounced on Sir Herbert’s right foot. Its razor sharp teeth tore at his boot viciously. 

“Watkins! Your weapon, now!” my friend called. I had been frozen in my spot, watching with horror at the gruesome scene before me; but at his outcry I jumped into action, pulling out my slingshot and rapidly shot five rocks at the monster. The first three hit against its torso, but the last two hit its head, one on the forehead and one in between its eyes. With a great howl of pain, it fell over onto its side. 

Holes and I slowly made our way over to where Sir Herbert lay, keeping an eye on the hound should it suddenly spring back to life. As I kneeled by Sir Herbert and attempted to stop his flood of hysterical tears, Holes began observing the dog. “Is it truly the demon hound of legend?” I asked him. 

With a triumphant smirk on his face, Holes replied, “Of course not! It is simply a very clever ruse.” He motioned for me to come take a closer look. Since Sir Herbert was doing considerably better, I kneeled by Holes and looked at where he was pointing on the dog’s muzzle. “See here, Watkins—red glitter! It was clearly a fright tactic, placed there to strike fear into the victim’s heart.” With a glance at Sir Herbert he added under his breath, “A tactic that obviously worked.” Then, in a louder voice declared, “Well, Sir Herbert, it would appear as though you are now safe from harm for the night. Watkins here will escort you back to Baskettown Hall.”

“And you, Mr. Holes? What shall you do?” Sir Herbert asked in a shaky voice; he apparently wasn’t as recovered as I had thought. Holes scoffed and answered in a condescending tone.

“Catch the culprit behind this, obviously.”


End file.
